


PlayList

by McLavellan



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Secret Crush
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-07
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-13 19:09:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16898289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/McLavellan/pseuds/McLavellan
Summary: Voices stopped. A few heads turned to him and he pursed his lips and tried to pretend he hadn't just cussed at some salt and pepper prick in a suit who just took the most desirable seat in the carriage. Maybe if he nudged the old lady, there'd be a domino effect down the line to someone who might spill their coffee on the man and send him fleeing to the toilets.





	1. Juxtaposed

**Author's Note:**

> Each chapter will be a song from the playlists I'm making them. Which are mostly random Spotify Radio songs that come on and make me go "Oooh". Judge me all you want.

The 8:43 was miraculously on time. If Dorian could get a seat, then maybe this day wouldn't be so bad after all.

He moved with the rest of the crowd, determined to get on as soon as possible but not seem overly rude doing so. He even caved and let a little old lady get on before him, popping her a pleasant smile that didn't reach his eyes. But sunglasses hid a multitude of sins this morning.

He squeezed on after the ancient creature, trying not to grind his teeth as she tottered slowly in front of him. Leisurely travellers had no right to be on an early train. The other end of the carriage was already passing the middle and taking up seats. She was small enough to fold up in the luggage rack, he was certain. But he was also certain he'd never get away with that. So he waited as patiently as he could, eyes catching a familiar blonde head. The seat next to his secret train crush was empty. Maybe this was going to be the day. Maybe he was finally-

“Oh for fuck’s sake.”

Voices stopped. A few heads turned to him and he pursed his lips and tried to pretend he hadn't just cussed at some salt and pepper prick in a suit who just took the most desirable seat in the carriage. Maybe if he nudged the old lady, there'd be a domino effect down the line to someone who might spill their coffee on the man and send him fleeing to the toilets.

A portly man, whose belly had been resting against Dorian's lower back, leant in to commiserate with him on the state of the commuter train services. Then licked his lips. Drank Dorian up, tried to gauge if he were the type of pretty young man as insecure in his sexuality as himself, who'd happily blow the sweaty bastard in the bogs for a pretty coin or even just a pretty compliment. Dorian knew his type. He knew his own too, and it had much higher standards about where it's pretty coins and compliments came from.

The crowd pushed on and Dorian reached over a seat to nudge the musty smelling teenager who was pretending to be asleep while their bag took up an entire seat. They stirred, glowered up, and made a show of trying to get the bag on their lap.

“Allow me,” Dorian chirped, lifting it into the overhead and parking himself down, out of reach of his admirer.

Blonde man, or “Lipedus” as Dorian thought of him, was three seats ahead and across, headphones so obnoxiously large they were a clear message. “Leave me alone”.

Dorian put his earbuds in, bluetooth, black, elegant, but still a relatively determined Fuck Off to other passengers, and closed his eyes, head going back on the seat. He really shouldn't have drunk so much last night.

Nor should he have closed his eyes. Though, actually if he hadn't, he wouldn't have woken up to Lipedus looking at him worriedly, speaking, voice drowned out by music. Dorian caught an earring as he whipped a bud out too quickly and winced. “Sorry? What.”

“It’s...it's our stop. Well. You usually get of here.” The man nodded at the window and tried not to laugh as Dorian scrambled to gather himself and get off of the train. Lipedus had waited behind him, seemed to guide him off like a personal guard, and Dorian thanked him, earnestly. Should he ask his name? Give his own? Buy him a drink?

“Well…. Hope the day goes quick,” the man smiled.

It was too late to stop him, the earphones were going on as he turned on his heel and walked into the crowd.

Usually he went the opposite way and waited for the crowd to disperse. Not that Dorian had waited and watched once. Or even twice.

So, denying to himself that he was in any way overdramatic, he wondered if he'd somehow ruined his one and only chance. Maybe he'd snored. Maybe… He checked his mouth and felt a little crusted drool in the corner.

“ _Fuck_.”

Today was going to suck. At least his clients always had it worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Juxtaposed With U - Super Furry Animals
> 
>  
> 
> Lipedus. I'm a smart ass trying to write a smart ass who is actually smart. Lipedus is a play on Ledpidus, which means charming and nice etc. But Dorian likes Cullen's lips so.... Pretentious nickname go!


	2. Take everything real slow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was only one sense he could isolate from the others, so isolate it he did, filled it with something he wanted and controlled, and tried to ignore the rest.

Cullen liked music that drowned everything else out. Especially when everything else was a train packed with bodies, body odour, and greasy, overpriced bacon butties from the station. Sharp, sickly coffee smells. 

There was only one sense he could isolate from the others, so isolate it he did, filled it with something he wanted and controlled, and tried to ignore the rest. 

He still got nervous even after a year of the same train every morning and evening. And it was silly; nothing bad had ever happened to him on a train, but something had happened to someone somewhere sometime, and that was enough. Music. Music was good. He could stare out the window at the passing countryside, the once again familiar green fields, grey skies, red brick towns. He could stare out, hear his music, and feel so remarkably alone and at peace. 

Until somebody would nudge by or kick his seat, or the train would stop on a busy platform and his escape would be invaded by angry crowds of scowls and suits. 

_Breathe._

_In, hold, out, hold. Change the track, close your eyes, wait for the pull of movement. Open your eyes, green again - free again._

There was one stop he didn't mind watching. Not only was it in a historic city, everything the BBC could want for a period drama, but there was a man. He didn't even know why the man was important. He supposed it was the expression he wore when he thought nobody was looking. It was the expression of a man who felt he was better than this. The face of a man who should be getting taxis everywhere. A man who should live in the city already, surrounded by life and noise and people. Instead, he was here with the peasants, smiling graciously at them before they turned away and the mask slipped and he looked utterly... well, done. 

Cullen liked that. He wished he would pull that face. 

Unlike yesterday, it was free of sunglasses, made up with eyeliner and probably something else. Cullen didn't know the first thing about it, but he knew girls who would change their faces subtly or completely with their cosmetic witchcraft. It added to The Sultan’s presence. Painted eyes, painted nails, painted on smile. He was The Sultan because the King was Elvis, and princes didn't seem powerful enough. The Sultan was elegant, poised, and diplomatic. So certain of himself, so at ease. Yes, it must be quite wonderful to be like the Sultan.

Maybe one day Cullen would have the nerve to save him a seat, or give up his own, but he did so love that scowl when the man was forced to stand. And the way he'd begin to drum his fingers, his lips moving to unheard music ever so slightly. Cullen would have a little fun imagining what song he might be listening to. He'd play some cheesy pop, just to try to match it to the man for a laugh. Over time the game became far more serious to him and he cursed the packed train for denying him the ease to wander by and see if he could catch the title of a song. 

 _One_ _day_ , he promised himself, _I'm just going to ask_. 

But this wasn't to be the day. He turned his head and played through yesterday's events once more. Berating himself for not having to the nerve to chat. For being so afraid of a simple conversation or the rejection of it that he'd managed to swallow his panic enough to join the crowd. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come Back To What You Know - Embrace
> 
> The name Sultan comes from my Grandma's dog. And her reasoning for it. He didn't turn out quite as regal as his dad (inspiration for the name), but he was the goodest boy.


	3. Social Push and Shove

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Truthfully, he thought that was the end of his dealings with the woman, but on the platform he heard a sound over his music and saw people stop and look back. First at him and then beyond. So he turned and, in doing so, met the eye of Lipedus, saw his mouth moving as he was stood beside the grim little woman.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uhhnnnm.... Hi.

Dorian was seated again at the far end. Lipedus was facing his way, but so far back that it wasn't even worth pretending he'd caught the man's eye. So Dorian got himself comfortable, put the music on, and took a nail polish remover pad out of his bag, scrubbing at his nails angrily. Today was an inspection day. They criticised every inch of the lab and its staff, so prying that Dorian wouldn't be surprised if he was told to bleach his asshole before the next one. He supposed the varnish was getting old anyway, left over from the weekend, cracking in the corners where he'd begun to pick. 

What a weekend it had been. He smiled to himself, widely, breaking it only momentarily to scowl and tut at the woman next to him who seemed to be reprimanding him for the smell of the polish remover. He gave her his least apologetic smile and returned to cleaning away the evidence of a life he wished he could live more often; a life full of laughter and friends. One friend, at least. Oh, how scandalised the people around him right now would be if they saw him, or heard him. It was an incredible feeling having a secret one doesn't feel ashamed of. Having people that would accept you for your heart, not your outer husk of humanity. That would rot and die, but maybe something of him would live on in the infamy of the city nightlife. 

As far way as he was, and as much as his fancies could get carried away, as he looked up, he could have sworn Lipedus had been gazing his way. His heart swelled, and it didn't take much beating down to suppress his wild imagination when he became aware of a sound over the music. He removed an earbud to the complaining of the woman beside him. 

“Selfish. You don't give a shit about-”

“No,” he agreed, “I don't. Luckily for you, I'm done.” He gave her a long look, taking in the split ends, the dry lips, dark circles under her eyes. He didn't have to be so cruel as to say anything about any of it. The look did enough to make people insecure and stop focusing on his business and get back to their own. His lips twitched into a smile as they looked away from each other and continued their journeys in peace, or so he assumed. He put his bud back in and spent the rest of the ride checking emails from the lab. 

Truthfully, he thought that was the end of his dealings with the woman, but on the platform he heard a sound over his music and saw people stop and look back. First at him and then beyond. So he turned and, in doing so, met the eye of Lipedus, saw his mouth moving as he was stood beside the grim little woman. 

“Sorry?” Dorian asked, taking the buds out. 

“She…. She… called you a, ah-” His accusatory tone lost its energy and became awkward as he struggled to finish the thought. 

“Fag,” the woman spat, finishing it for him. 

“Oh. Right.” Dorian watched the two of them, a little lost, until he saw the confused hurt on his eye candy's face. “Oh, _right_. No, no, you're right. That's awful. But you know,” he said, stepping closer, “She’s ‘of a different generation’, if you get my meaning.”

The woman, who couldn't be more than five years his senior, sputtered and held herself as tall as she could. “I beg your pardon?!”

“Sorry dear,” Dorian tutted, leaning in closer and raising his voice, speaking slowly, “I said ‘ _you're of a different generation_ ’.”

The woman sputtered again and stormed past them both. 

“Good luck with the colonoscopy, Eunice!” Dorian called after her with a little finger wave. He was still grinning when he turned back to Lipedus, who was laughing, surprised. Dorian's smile faltered as his heart fluttered at that face. That laugh. That smile. 

“Well. Looks like you don't need a big damn hero after all,” the blonde said, sheepishly. 

“I don't mind. Especially if there's a bridal carry involved?” The words tumbled out as the man shot him a polite laugh and sauntered away.

Fuck. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Deborah Cox - Absolutely Not


End file.
